An Hour
by The Nth Degree
Summary: Dr Nigel Fenway is sitting on a helicopter, throughly annoyed with his predicament and his company.


Author's Note: Hi. I, after 3 episodes, have become utterly addicted to Threshold. The writing, the characters, the plot, the aliens, everything. It makes me go squee. And so, with 20 minutes of time, not enough to continue working on either my Star Trek: TNG/VOY or my Red Eye fic, I created this drabble about Threshold. I know it's not the best, in fact, it has to be one of the oddest things I've written. This is one of those things where it just came out of my head and down on paper, I hardly edited it at all. So um, that's just a warning. :) Be leanient - please?

I based it around Fenway cause, he rules. And the last line in this was my real motivation. "Where do I begin?" - it spoke volumes to me. Cause I woulda probably said the same thing XD Anyways. Enjoy, if you even can. o.0

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**An Hour**

Dr Fenway pursed his lips and then frowned as the steady beating of the helicopter blades echoed in his head. He couldn't exactly think of _what_ to do – he was sitting on the helicopter with a bunch of, well, he didn't know – he could only assume they were incompetent morons – off to save the world.

Yep. Just like goddamn Superman.

His head was swimming, his gaze never leaving the two men in front of him. One was sitting, intently clutching his Blackberry as if it was the last possession in the world, and the dwarf beside him was sitting, looking out the window – bored. The same boredom that was grasping at his thoughts. They had been on the copter, for what, a good 45 minutes? Through the rain, which was giving him a headache, no less.

Beside him, Dr Molly Caffrey sat, trying to hide her nervousness. Not like he didn't know. He sniffed impatiently as his thoughts focused for the first time since they had reached the copter - he was a Doctor of all trades – microbiologist, pathologist, he was also into forensics and knew just the slightest about psychology. Oh, and he was a cynic to boot. How could he _not_ notice her shifting eyes and wringing hands? Everything was _not_ okay in Molly-Land.

Not trying to stroke his own ego, of course.

Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention out of the window, seeing nothing but sheets of rain flying by the glass, an eerie reflection of his glasses staring back at him. The distortion made him pause to look closer – the reflection made him pause and frown. That reflection looked just like _they_ could.

And by _they_, he meant aliens.

Aliens. The thought evoked many emotions in him: a sense of curiosity that he thought had disappeared from him a _long_ time ago, a sense of wonder, and most importantly – a sense of inferiority. _Not so much fear_, he thought to himself, _but more like 'oh crap, we're screwed because these guys are bigger, stronger, faster'. _

And then there was the whole problem – the icing on the proverbial Alien-Cake, that he, himself, was _abducted_. His collegue, the dwarf, had pointed it out back at the Threshold headquarters. And he was displeased. One moment, he was listening to The Tragically Hip, trying to do the job he was paid to do, when the Burly Guard came in and swarmed him.

He wasn't happy.

_And then, of course, there was the muscle, "Mr Shut Up Before I Punch Your Face In"_, he thought bitterly, diverting his attention back into the copter.

"I'm just saying," Ramsay, the dwarf, remarked amicably, "I never read 'and on the Eighth Day, the Lord created Klingons'."

Fenway rolled his eyes, not sharing in the nervous twitter between the other two. He stifled a yawn, glancing subtly at his watch. Going on 55 minutes. Yep. Although, he realized he probably shouldn't have complained – it could have taken _a lot_ longer if they didn't have the Koreans on their backs.

That's right. Superman had to save the world before the Korean equivalent of Lex Luther came in with the Kryptonite, aka their own firepower - probably nukes.

He then stared at the pair, who were silent. The nervousness was getting to everyone, except him. It probably wasn't aliens, the world, _most likely_ wasn't in danger…why was there such a tension? But, if the government said it was big, then oh-by-god, he had to stop _everything_ he was experimenting on and go obey them like a good little slave. The thought brought an arrogant smile to his face.

The cynic's mind, alright.

"What's _your_ problem?" Ramsay directed in his direction, looking annoyed at Fenway's smug look.

Instead of dropping it, it became wider as he shrugged.

Aliens, abduction, lack of income, moronic Homeland Security behind the scenes, an hour of wasted time, _aliens_…

"Where do I begin?"


End file.
